Underappreciated OrangeHaired Men Unite!
by Cheeseburger of Doom
Summary: Three orange-haired men meet one night to take over the world...By writing fanfiction? (Serious fics by not-so-serious men) ...a shocking and rather pointless update!
1. Intro

__

Once upon a time...

"Hold up! That's lame! The ladies won't go for that!" Wakato Hiroshi exclaimed, looking over Sengoku Kiyosumi's shoulder.

Sengoku sighed. "It would be easier to write this without you interrupting me every five seconds."

"Fine." Hiroshi pouted and sulked in a corner, wishing his ego-boosting fansgirls were around.

__

Once upon a time, there were three orange-haired men who were vastly underappreciated...

"Why is Jiroh included in this?" Hiroshi demanded, breaking Sengoku's concentration yet again. "His hair isn't orange!"

"It's sort of a burnt orange," Sengoku replied, "So let me write!"

"Fine," Hiroshi said, and he went back to sulking.

Sengoku picked up his pen, and tried to write more, but the sound of Akutagawa Jiroh's snoring was beginning to get to him.

"Jiroh! Wake up!" he exclaimed.

Jiroh snorted, blinked, wiped some drool off the side of his mouth, then went back to sleep.

Sengoku heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Why am I even bothering with this story?"

"Because the three of us are mostly overlooked! Jiroh is used as comic relief most of the time, I get little to no recognition even though I'm incredibly sexy, and you -- who writes about you?"

"One or two people...But I'm not a major character, so there isn't much information for the fanfiction authors to go by..."

"Exactly! It's the same for all of us!"

"So...I guess I can use my creative license, right?" Sengoku asked. "Anything goes?"

"Sure, why not! As long as I'm godly!" Hiroshi replied.

"Isn't it kind of pointless to write our own fanfiction though?" Sengoku asked.

The sleeping Jiroh made a snorting noise, as if he was in agreement.

"No! It's perfect! Now, you're the lucky one -- so if you write the damn story, maybe people will actually read it! Then we can take over the world!" Hiroshi cackled. "Change!" he yelled. His fans were not there however, so no one replied with "Over!". He went back to his corner and pouted some more.

Sengoku sighed again, and picked up his pen.

__

Three orange-haired (one with hair that was more of a burnt orange than orange) men who had stories of their own...


	2. Jiroh by Sengoku!

Pretty Blue Eyes 

(Jiroh)

Even while asleep he was vaguely aware of what was going on around him -- most of the time.

He heard Atobe command Kabaji to wake him, and he took a step out of his hazy world. He could feel Kabaji looming over him...picking him up...

Jiroh didn't want to wake up.

Opening his eyes was too much effort. He knew that if he was awake he would have to deal with all the voices he could hear buzzing outside -- voices that were so annoying that he could hardly stand them, even while asleep. He hated the reality he saw when he opened his eyes.

Someone was shaking him.

His eyes opened. It took a moment to figure out where he was. A tennis tournament?

Akutagawa Jiroh shuffled onto the tennis court, yawning all the way. He wanted to return to his favorite dream, the one where he was surrounded by nothing, completely alone.

Jiroh was half-asleep on the court, until his opponent woke him up.

As Jiroh played, he realized that he was actually facing a challenge. He grew excited. He was wide awake.

He lost that match -- to Fuji Syuusuke, the tennis prodigy. He'd never been as happy about losing as he was that day.

Fuji Syuusuke was interesting. Fuji Syusuke had been able to wake Jiroh up completely.

Jiroh was excited.

Jiroh was awake.

~~~~~

Jiroh began dreaming of pretty blue eyes.

After playing Fuji, he could think of nothing else.

Reality became even more tiresome, and he slept more deeply than before, shutting everything out so he could dream of those pretty blue eyes.

He wanted that interesting person to wake him up once more. 

It got harder and harder for Jiroh's team-mates to shake him out of slumber when they needed him. His teachers found that no amount of screaming at him could make him open his eyes. His mother, who was used to him sleeping most of the time, grew worried when he slept all of the time, instead.

Jiroh was too busy drowning in pretty blue eyes to care.

He wanted to wake up like that again. He wanted to feel that excitement again.

If he couldn't see that interesting person again, then he didn't want to bother waking up at all.

Reality was too tiresome.

~~~~~

Jiroh felt himself being shaken even more violently than usual. He cracked open one eye.

"Jiroh! Wake up already!"

Jiroh didn't even try to recognize the person shaking him. It wasn't the one with the pretty blue eyes, so he didn't care.

He went back to his dream.

~~~~~

Jiroh's dream became a memory.

He'd been close to his father when he was little. He remembered his father carrying him on his shoulders...He remembered them playing together.

Jiroh remembered the day that his father had died.

He remembered his promise to sleep through anything that hurt.

Sleeping was a perfect retreat. Dreams of nothingness were wonderful. Nothing hurt when he was lost in nothing...because there was nothing there to hurt.

After that, sleeping had become useful for other things. To escape boredom, to escape worry.

To escape reality.

Reality that was boring, painful, tiresome.

Reality.

Jiroh liked his nothingness dreams, but for some reason, he liked his dreams of pretty blue eyes more.

Jiroh's memory turned back into a dream. His new dream.

He wanted to wake up to see those pretty blue eyes again.

~~~~~

"I don't get it...he used to wake up when we called him, at least to play tennis."

Jiroh knew that voice, but he didn't try to place it. Probably one of his team-mates that he didn't care about.

"This is pissing me off," someone else said. Someone who's voice held more authority. Buchou? Maybe. Jiroh didn't really care who it was. It wasn't the voice he wanted to wake up and hear. It wasn't the voice of the one who had excited him. "Wake him up, Kabaji."

"Usu."

Jiroh felt the large figure looming over him. He felt himself being shaken, more and more violently.

He didn't open his eyes. He didn't want to wake up. He wanted to remain in his escape and think of those pretty blue eyes...

"Jiroh! Wake up already!"

That voice was so commanding...Jiroh found it hard to ignore. He pried open his eyes, and he looked at Atobe, the one who wanted to disturb him.

"I want to go to Seigaku," he said, and then he retreated back into his dream.

He retreated far enough into that dream that he didn't hear his team-mates yelling at him.

~~~~~

"What are they doing here?"

"Saa."

Jiroh stirred as he recognized the second voice. It was the voice of his interesting person, the one whose pretty blue eyes were in his dreams, the blue eyes that were his dreams.

Jiroh woke up.

Jiroh started to feel excited again.

"It's you! I wanted to see you!" he exclaimed. "I want to play a game with you!"

Fuji looked a little surprised. Jiroh was disappointed that those pretty blue eyes were hidden from view by his eyelids. Closed eyes...That reminded him of his dead father. He didn't like it.

He realized he was being held up by someone, and he squirmed a bit. He was set down on the ground. 

"Jiroh wanted to come here," said the commanding voice of Atobe. He sounded a little angry. "So I had Kabaji bring him."

"Why would he want to come here?" Fuji's companion, who Jiroh did not care about, asked.

Atobe shrugged. "He's been acting very strangely. It's very annoying. He refuses to wake up, and he refuses to practice, even more than before."

Atobe actually sounded a little worried. He cared about his players, even if it didn't seem like it.

That was not important to Jiroh, though. He ignored everyone who was talking about him as if he wasn't there. His attention was focused on Fuji.

"Play a game with me," he said again.

"It's getting late, and I was about to go home," Fuji said. "Maybe another time?"

Jiroh's excitement evaporated. He felt very, very tired.

__

We'll play together another time, Jiroh. 

When I get home from work, we'll play together...

Only...he never came home that day. Because he died.

Closed eyes.

His father's eyes had been brown, once. Now they were closed.

Jiroh closed his eyes. He went back to his dreamland. If Fuji didn't want to play with him, fine. If his father didn't want to play with him, fine.

He would find the nothing again.

There was nothing that could hurt him there.

~~~~~

"Akutagawa-kun...wake up."

Jiroh could hear a very lovely voice calling his name. He wondered if it was his father, but no, his father had been dead for years. He didn't want to wake up and face the reality where his father was dead, oh no. Not that boring reality...It always made him so tired...

"Wake up."

Jiroh's eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at the person sitting beside him.

Why was Fuji beside his bed? Fuji, the person who had refused to play with him. 

At least Fuji hadn't died.

"What are you doing here?" Jiroh asked. He was angry. Angry that Fuji was intruding on his beautiful nothing dreams. Angry that he still dreamed of Fuji's pretty blue eyes, even though Fuji didn't want to play with him.

"You passed out at my school, after asking me to play a game with you," Fuji replied. "No one could wake you up. You've been in the hospital for three days. I came to see how you were."

"Why?" Jiroh asked, bewildered.

"I thought maybe you would wake up if I told you I wanted to play. That seems to be why you slipped away in the first place," Fuji said. "When someone refused to play with you. I was talking to your mother...Do you sleep to escape?"

"Escape? Why would I want to escape?" Jiroh asked. He didn't want to tell anyone about his nothing dreams. He didn't want to tell anyone that it still hurt in reality, but never while he was asleep.

He wanted to go back to that dream. Being woken up by Fuji, his interesting person, was not as good as he'd thought it would be.

"You can't escape forever," Fuji said. "Your father is dead, Akutagawa-kun."

Jiroh felt the nothingness calling out to him.

"No, don't go back to sleep. You've slept enough. Wake up now, and come play a game with me."

Play a game? A game of tennis with someone who excited him...Someone who had been able to wake him up, and make him want to be woken up again, for the first time in a long, long time.

That sounded pretty good to Jiroh -- even though being in this reality was making him hurt again.

He nodded. "Let's play a game."

Fuji called one of the nurses, and told her that Jiroh was finally awake. She went to get the doctor.

The doctor had been baffled by Jiroh's condition. He had appeared to be in a coma, even though there was nothing physically wrong with him. He'd come to the conclusion that the coma must have been self-induced.

After the doctor examined him, he said that Jiroh was free to go. He wanted to contact Jiroh's mother.

"Not yet," Fuji said. "I'll bring him home a little later."

He took Jiroh to the street tennis courts. Since Jiroh had nothing, Fuji lent him a racket.

Fuji won the match. 

Jiroh didn't care. He felt alive. He felt alive for the first time in a very, very long time. Fuji's eyes were open. Those pretty blue eyes that had been haunting his nothing dream. Those pretty blue eyes that gave him something, but did not hurt him -- because those eyes were open, and filled with such intensity. Filled with such _life_.

The way he played tennis, he seemed so _alive_.

In reality, there was someone that could make Jiroh want to be awake.

Because Fuji was alive...

His voice was like the voice of Jiroh's father, but Fuji was alive.

"I'll walk you home now," Fuji said, smiling. His eyes were closed once again, but Fuji was not dead. Fuji was still alive.

"My father left me," Jiroh said suddenly. He didn't want to go home just yet. "He died before we could play again, so I went to sleep."

Fuji nodded. "Your mother said she thought it might be something like that, but she didn't know what to do about it, so she just let you sleep."

Jiroh nodded. His mother had never tried to wake him up, as others had. No one had been able to wake him up like Fuji. Fuji was special. Fuji had pretty blue eyes.

Jiroh did not want to slip back into the dream. He wanted to stay awake for a while longer. He wanted to talk to his mother. He wanted to ask how to make the pain go away without retreating into the nothing.

He wanted to be able to see those pretty blue eyes again in reality, not in his dream.

~~~~~

~~~~~

"What the hell was that?" Hiroshi demanded, after he'd finished reading Sengoku's work.

"It was Jiroh's fic..."

"I know that, but what the hell were you smoking when you wrote it? That was weird! And I think Fuji was out of character. Would he even call someone 'kun'? " Hiroshi asked, shaking his head. "Why did you write Jiroh's first, anyway?"

"I just had an idea..."

"Well your idea SUCKED, Mr. Lucky!" Hiroshi tore the paper up into tiny shreds, much to Sengoku's dismay.

"If you think you can do so much better, then you try!" Sengoku exclaimed, folding his arms across his chest.

"Sure!" 

__

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful, sexy, charming, wonderful and modest man named Wakato Hiroshi. He was adored and worshipped by all, rightfully so. He had a group of fans numbering in the millions, and he received fanmail from all over the world, telling him of his vast beauty and asking for his endless wisdom. He --

"This is what you call good writing?" Sengoku asked, reading over Hiroshi's shoulder.

"Well, it was better than yours!"

"Maybe we should give Jiroh a try," Sengoku said. He propped Jiroh up against a chair, and put a pen in his hand. Jiroh woke a little, moved the pen over the paper, then slumped back down again.

Sengoku regarded the paper with interest.

"Exploding pigs," he read aloud. "Hmm...I wonder what he's been dreaming about?"

"Give me the paper and pen back!" Hiroshi demanded. "I want a turn at writing!"

"Only if you don't write about yourself," Sengoku said. He was not willing to read one hundred pages worth of Hiroshi's self-praise, and he was willing to be that even Hiroshi's biggest fans wouldn't be interested in something like that.

"Fine, I'll write your story then," Hiroshi mumbled.

"Make it good, please," Sengoku said. "I want to have a personality...I never get to have a personality."

"Whatever, whatever." Hiroshi thought for a moment, and then he began to write.

Sengoku wondered if it was a mistake letting Hiroshi write fanfiction about him. Sengoku wondered if Hiroshi had even watched any of the episodes with Sengoku starring in them, since Hiroshi himself wasn't in the series until later, and didn't really seem interested in anything other than himself.

Sengoku let out yet another sigh, then sat down to wait for the final result of Hiroshi's handiwork.


	3. Sengoku by Hiroshi!

Bad Luck

(Sengoku)

Luck can't be measured. It can't be put under a microscope and analyzed, so it will never be understood. Luck can't be controlled, or changed, because it depends on fate...whatever that is.

Sengoku was a lucky guy. He could do just about anything he set his mind to, because he had good luck. For his entire life, people were always commenting about how lucky he was, and how jealous they were.

They called him Lucky Sengoku.

Sengoku was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy...That is, he took things as they came, with a smile on his face, no matter what. Although, nothing bad really came his way, since he was so lucky, so perhaps that was the reason for his sunny disposition.

He was rarely serious. He could most often be seen grinning and teasing someone about something, anything. He liked to tease.

Sengoku had always been lucky, and he thought he would always be lucky, so he didn't have to worry about anything. His future was taken care of.

He was a very lucky guy.

~~~~~

__

Never play a game with Sengoku -- he'll always beat you. He knows what you're going to do... It's like he's psychic or something...No, he's not psychic, that's just his luck.

If you want to win, get Sengoku to help you. He's lucky enough for ten people!

Lucky Sengoku has it all, doesn't he?

You'll never win against Sengoku!

I never feel bad when I lose though, since he always smiles at me...

What a nice guy.

I wish I could play tennis like Sengoku!

Sengoku is such a lucky guy...

I wish I had his luck!

~~~~~

"Lucky Sengoku lost?"

"How could Lucky Sengoku lose?"

Sengoku wondered the same thing himself. Of course, he accepted the loss with a smile on his face -- a smile that faltered only when he was scolded by his coach, even after he'd apologized.

The match had been fun, but Sengoku had lost -- to that guy from Seigaku, Momoshiro. That interesting guy...

It had been fun, but Lucky Sengoku, who never lost -- had lost.

Is this the end of my good luck? He wondered.

He didn't really know what bad luck felt like.

~~~~~

__

Hey...what's up with Sengoku?

He keeps doing stupid things...

Just the other day, I saw him spill hot coffee on his lap! He was cursing for a full five minutes about that one...

I saw him walk right into a pole because he wasn't paying attention! Wow...he used to walk right around them...

Sengoku keeps losing! His tennis is getting weak...what happened to his good luck?

I don't know...

Ever since he lost to that Seigaku player, he hasn't been the same...

Has Sengoku lost his luck?

I'm glad I'm not him...

~~~~~

Sengoku regarded his newly graded test paper with a pained expression on his face. Another fail? This just wasn't his day.

Then again, no day was his day, these days. He wasn't Lucky Sengoku anymore, he was Sengoku the Klutz -- Sengoku the airhead -- Sengoku, who couldn't seem to do anything right. 

He'd never needed to study before. His luck had taken care of that.

Since he'd lost to Momoshiro, he'd failed three tests.

He'd never had to worry too much about practicing, his tennis had always come naturally...because he was lucky.

Ever since losing to Momoshiro, he'd been unable to focus.

Sengoku wondered what was going on.

He realized that he couldn't depend on luck for anything. Luck isn't something that can last forever.

~~~~~

Sengoku was beginning to feel just a little bit bitter. His luck had gone from terrific to terrible in a matter of days. All because he'd lost to Momoshiro.

He wondered if he was really losing his luck, or if losing to Momoshiro had been a fluke.

He wanted to find out, but when would he get the chance? Would he ever see Momoshiro, that interesting boy, again?

He hoped so. For some reason, he couldn't get that guy out of his head -- probably because that guy was responsible for the loss of the luck that Sengoku had depended on for survival. The luck he'd had ever since he could remember.

~~~~~

Luck can't be measured. Luck can't be controlled, or changed, because it depends on fate...whatever that is. Luck can't be depended on, because it can change at any time.

Sengoku stood by himself on a street tennis court, in the dark. It seemed that everyone had gone home. He really wanted to play some tennis.

He'd had an awful day...He had overslept because his alarm broke. He'd missed the bus, and he was late for school. At school, he found out that he'd handed in the wrong paper, and he'd received failing marks yet again. During tennis club practice, he'd completely blown his practice match against someone who should have been an easy opponent. He'd missed the bus on the way home because he'd fallen into a huge mud puddle. Definitely not a good day.

And now, as luck would have it, no one was at this tennis court. That meant no tennis for him, and he was going to have to go to sleep knowing that absolutely no good had come out of this day whatsoever.

Whatever happened to the perfect days he'd had? 

They were gone, with his good luck. All because of Momoshiro, the interesting guy who was stuck in his mind these days.

"Looks like someone else had the same idea I did."

The Unlucky Sengoku turned and saw a familiar figure, who was wearing a friendly smile.

"Oh, so it's you!" Sengoku said. He found himself smiling for the first time in days. "Want to play a game?"

"Sure."

Sengoku couldn't depend on his luck this time. He had to focus on using his skills. Skills he had been sadly neglecting.

The ball went past Momoshiro. It was a miss! 15-0 for Sengoku.

"That was lucky," Momoshiro said.

"It was, wasn't it?" Sengoku said. 

The game continued.

Sengoku returned Momoshiro's last serve, and Momoshiro gaped when he realized that the ball was already behind him, and he had missed it.

Sengoku was the victor.

Sengoku regarded Momoshiro, his interesting opponent, with a grin. "Maybe I'm still lucky after all," he said.

Momoshiro grinned back. "Tennis has nothing to do with luck."

"Maybe not," Sengoku said, "But I was lucky to meet you here, wasn't I? Omoshiroi-kun. Let's find a fast food place that's still open. I want to buy you a burger."

"Now it looks like I'm the lucky one," Momoshiro said. Sengoku laughed, and they walked off together.

~~~~~

__

Hey, look at Sengoku! His head is in the clouds...

That smile on his face is kind of scary...What do you think happened to him?

His luck seems to have returned...He's as good as ever...

Don't play any games with Sengoku! You can't win at all!

He's such a lucky guy...

I wish I had Sengoku's luck.

I hear Lucky Sengoku's got himself a boyfriend...Oh? Lucky guy.

~~~~~

~~~~~

Sengoku looked up from Hiroshi's story.

"That wasn't very happy," he said.

"It had a somewhat happy ending!" Hiroshi said. "People just eat this angst stuff up, you know?"

"You wrote it kind of oddly..."

"I have my own style, okay? Don't insult it, it's genius!"

Sengoku raised an eyebrow. Genius wasn't the word he would have used.

"You overused the word luck."

"Well it was about you! What was I supposed to do? You're Lucky Sengoku, damn it!"

"What's this part about how I've been sadly neglecting my skills?" Sengoku asked, pointing at a sentence near the end of the story.

"You were depending on luck, so you didn't practice as much as you should!"

"But I practice just as hard, or harder than anyone else," Sengoku said. "You made me sound like an airhead. And the plot was really basic, and kind of boring...and a little stupid..."

"Oh, shut up! Your Jiroh fic was stupid, too!"

"Oh really...at least I didn't pair him up with Fuji! What are you, some kind of yaoi fan?"

"The chicks love that stuff!"

Jiroh woke up to the sound of the two fighting. "Hey...quiet...I'm trying to sleep," he mumbled.

"Jiroh...are you awake?" Sengoku asked, blinking in surprise.

"How can I sleep with you two arguing like that?" he demanded. "Are the stories done yet?"

"Well...we need one more," Sengoku replied. "Hiroshi's story."

"Oh. Let me write it," Jiroh said.

"Um..." Sengoku and Hiroshi exchanged doubtful looks. Even if Jiroh managed to stay awake long enough to actually write a fic, they were a little worried about the quality of his writing.

Then Sengoku shrugged. "Ah, why not. We each had a turn."

Jiroh grinned, picked up the pen, and began to write like a madman. When he was done, he collapsed on top of his paper, and began snoring loudly once again.

Hiroshi pried the drool-covered paper out from under Jiroh's face, and he and Sengoku read it together...


	4. Hiroshi by Jiroh!

Denial

(Hiroshi)

Hiroshi liked to help his fans practice their cheering. If they were going to cheer him on, he wanted them to do it right. Of course they enjoyed having his help, since they loved him so much. Whenever he gave them a suggestion, they took it without question, while they squealed and giggled and screeched about how happy they were that the incredibly sexy Wakato-sama had spoken to them.

Hiroshi enjoyed helping out his fans. It made him feel important.

Wakato Hiroshi knew that he was a man worthy to be worshipped. He knew that girls thought he was incredibly handsome, and he enjoyed having them throw themselves at his feet. He was not about to stop the endless praise that they gave him, since he agreed with every word.

He was definitely a man worthy of worship...

But he needed to help out his fans before he could feel important.

Underneath the swelled head and self-adoration, Wakato Hiroshi was empty.

He knew he was just a copy-cat. He didn't even have his own tennis style. He'd never had an original idea in his life...he didn't need original ideas. Girls squealed at him and drooled all over him when he pulled off other people's moves and looked good while doing it. He didn't need to have original ideas to be loved.

Still, Wakato Hiroshi was empty in side.

He could often see something looming up ahead of him, something that he desperately wanted, but when he reached out for it, it would disappear. Every time.

So he worked on cheers with his fans. He made them giggle and squeal and faint over his stunning good looks. He smiled at them, and his teeth sparkled, and they all screamed for him. He played tennis and won all his games, and they loved him even more.

His fans made him feel important. His fans helped him keep on believing that he was a man worthy of worship. 

Wakato Hiroshi used his fans to fill up the emptiness inside him.

~~~~~

Hiroshi was having a nightmare.

A nightmare where he could see what he wanted ahead of him, but he couldn't reach it. Only that wasn't a nightmare, it was reality.

He reached for it...and his fingers wrapped around it...but it disappeared.

What was it that kept eluding him? What was it that he really wanted?

He wanted his fans to keep cheering for him, and he wanted them to love him forever. He wanted to be the same Wakato Hiroshi that they squealed at and giggled over forever.

He knew all that though. Every day, that was what he strived for. He spent hours in the morning on his hair, to make it just so...His fans loved his hair...He worked on cheers with them...He came up with "Change..." "...Over!" just to seem cool in their eyes. They ate it up. They loved him. They worshipped him.

But Hiroshi still felt empty inside. Why? What was it that he really wanted? 

He wasn't sure.

He was just a copy-cat -- he didn't even have his own tennis style. There were no original ideas in his head. He worked hard to become other people...so how could he possibly know what he really wanted?

He didn't even know who he really was. He had forgotten. 

He reached out for that something that kept eluding him...and he still could not reach it. He would never be able to reach it.

In his nightmare, Hiroshi cried for that thing that he would never have. 

~~~~~

Hiroshi was in a bad mood, and it showed. His usual smug smile was replaced by a scowl. He stalked through the hallways of his school with a dark cloud hanging over his head.

"You're ruining your good looks with that frown."

That voice stopped Hiroshi dead in his tracks.

"Nothing could ruin my good looks, not even a frown." Hiroshi flashed his most charming (if somewhat fake) smile at his captain, the handsome Kajimoto Takahisa.

"Is something wrong?" Kajimoto asked.

"Why would anything be wrong?"

"I can see it in your eyes..."

Kajimoto was suddenly too close to him. Hiroshi tried to back away, but there was a wall behind him, blocking his escape.

Kajimoto just stared at him for a few moments. Hiroshi felt like his soul was being examined. He wondered if Kajimoto, with his searching eyes, could see the emptiness beneath Wakato Hiroshi's charming exterior. Hiroshi didn't want anyone to see that. He didn't want anyone to know that inside, he was just as insecure as the next person. He was Wakato Hiroshi, a man worthy of worship...A man on a pedestal...

Kajimoto shook his head, and backed off.

"When you know what you want, we'll talk." He walked away, leaving a startled Hiroshi behind.

How could his captain possibly know about the phantoms that haunted him? That desire that he kept reaching out for, but could never touch. How did he know?

Hiroshi went in search of some of his fans, who would praise him, and love him, and make him feel important. He didn't want to dwell on the confusion in his mind.

He knew what he really wanted -- to remain who he was forever, and to stay popular and beautiful and loved, forever...

That was what he really wanted.

There was no way he had any desire for a certain person with soul-searching eyes...eyes that had pierced through his mask and seen the emptiness that lay there. 

Hiroshi reached out for that fleeting thing that he could never touch, and it slipped away from him once again. He could see it a little better than usual this time, though. It looked almost like...

Almost like a man whose eyes could pierce the soul.

"Let's work hard today, girls!" Hiroshi exclaimed, as he came across some of his fans. They squealed. They praised him. They loved him.

Wakato Hiroshi did not feel important. He felt empty.

What did he really want?

He didn't want to allow himself to find out. He didn't want to reach the conclusion that was looming up ahead, even though deep down, he already knew what it was.

~~~~~

Hiroshi was having a nightmare. In his nightmare, he was left all alone. 

Hiroshi hated being alone.

He was running, trying to reach out to the only person that he could see, but that person remained just out of range.

__

"When you know what you want, we'll talk..."

Hiroshi woke up in a cold sweat. 

He couldn't deny his real feelings forever. The emptiness inside him was threatening to consume him.

Hiroshi didn't know who he was. He didn't have his own personality, he didn't have his own set of wants and needs...

Was Wakato Hiroshi made up of other people, or was there a real Wakato Hiroshi lurking somewhere, waiting to escape?

It was time for him to have a talk with Kajimoto.

~~~~~

Kajimoto regarded Hiroshi with a surprised look. He'd never seen Hiroshi looking this miserable before.

"How did you know?" he asked.

"How did I know what?"

"What I really wanted," Hiroshi replied, "Before I even knew?"

"I could see it in your eyes," Kajimoto said. "They give everything away."

Hiroshi still looked miserable. 

"I know the real you," Kajimoto continued. "You've been reaching out to me."

Reaching out....all this time, reaching for something he couldn't touch...

Hiroshi reached out his hand, and touched Kajimoto's cheek. That thing that kept eluding him...He could feel it, now.

Kajimoto was smiling at him. "Do you know what you want now?" he asked.

"I want to be popular forever," Hiroshi replied. "I want to be cheered for and loved and adored forever."

Kajimoto shook his head. "You're in denial."

A small laugh emerged from Hiroshi, and a smile finally broke out on his face. "Not anymore," he said, "Because I was also going to say that I want...you."

His handsome captain leaned in and kissed him. Hiroshi felt the emptiness inside him disappearing.

Hiroshi had finally figured out one thing that he really wanted. He was one step closer to discovering who he really was; one step closer to being himself.

~~~~~

Hiroshi reached out for that thing he desperately wanted...and he caught it.

~~~~~

~~~~~

"You made me sound so uncool!" Hiroshi cried.

"I don't know, I kind of liked that one," Sengoku commented. "You actually sounded like a decent human being, for once. Good work, Jiroh."

Jiroh snored in reply.

"Do people actually like this stuff?" Hiroshi demanded. "Will the girls still adore me after this?"

"You were the one who said that yaoi is popular," Sengoku pointed out. "They'll probably love you even more if they find out you're in love with your captain."

"Who said I was in love with him?"

"Jiroh seems to think that way."

Sengoku and Hiroshi looked over at the sleeping Jiroh.

"Well, it's obvious Jiroh didn't know much about me or Kajimoto. How did he even know Kajimoto's name?" Hiroshi wondered aloud. "He slept through those episodes..."

Sengoku shrugged.

"Why did he make me feel all empty inside though? I'm perfectly content as I am. I mean, what's with the whole denial angst thing? He didn't even go into why I was denying it! I don't have self-esteem issues! Besides, if I really was in love with Kajimoto-buchou, which I'm not saying I am, I wouldn't be in denial, I'd just go for it."

"That sounds like the words of someone who knows," Sengoku said, with a smirk.

"Well, at least we each have a story now," Hiroshi said, changing the subject. "Even if they all sucked."

"So, you're admitting the one you wrote sucked?"

"No, of course not! I'm a genius, how could it have sucked?"

Sengoku laughed in Hiroshi's face. Hiroshi became angry. "Change!" he yelled, in a deep manly voice, then he pulled his hat out of his pocket, and put it on backwards. "Over!" he screeched, in a high pitched girly wail. He then rolled up his sleeve, and jumped at Sengoku, ready to punch his lights out.

"Hey, hey! Aren't we supposed to be a team?" Sengoku asked. "We shouldn't hurt each other, since we want to take over the world together!"

Some of the fire left Hiroshi's eyes. "Fine, but no more insulting the beautiful me!"

"As long as you don't insult me," Sengoku said.

"Right, so let's go take over the world! All orange-haired men together!" Hiroshi cried.

"What about him?" Sengoku asked, pointing in the snoring Jiroh's direction.

"His hair isn't even really orange, anyway."

"True enough."

Then Hiroshi and Sengoku proceeded to use their orange hair and their fanfiction to take over the world, while Jiroh slept.

****

The End


	5. Davide, by Amane Hikaru! !

Sengoku looked at the formal request that was lying in front of him. It was very professional, if one overlooked the fact that it was written on a crumpled napkin, most likely obtained at a fast food establishment.

"So you want to join the Orange-Haired Men United?" he asked, looking up at the man who stood before him.

The man nodded once. He looked like a very serious sort of person -- but Sengoku knew better, because he'd watched most of the Rokkaku episodes.

"I don't know if I look the look of him," Hiroshi said, glaring at the newest would-be addition to their club. 

"You're just worried he's going to steal some of your fangirls," Sengoku said. "We need all the men we can get, though, so I think we should approve."

Hiroshi sighed. "I guess you're right. Welcome aboard, Davide-san! What would you like your story to be about?"

Davide thought about it for a few moments. "Well...It doesn't really matter, as long as I get my own story, for once."

Sengoku and Hiroshi blinked a few times, and exchanged glances. Jiroh, whose hair was not really orange, but was a member of the Orange-Haired Men United anyway, snored away.

"Who would you like to write the story for you?" Hiroshi asked. 

"That doesn't matter, either."

"Are you sure? Jiroh's quite the yaoi fan, and Sengoku...Well, his writing is crap," Hiroshi said. "As for me..."

"You stink every bit as much as I do," Sengoku said, "So don't pretend otherwise."

"Can I write my own story?" Davide asked. The bickering between the two men was beginning to annoy him. The noise made him unable to think of any good puns.

"I guess so," Sengoku said, with a shrug. "Good luck."

"Thank you, Mr. Lucky." Davide took a seat at the desk in the corner of the meeting room, picked up a pen, and began to write.

"I wonder what he's going to come up with," Sengoku commented.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to let him join?" Hiroshi asked.

"Why not? His hair is orange, too. And like I said, we need more people in this club, or we're not going to get anywhere. I mean, we only have three members right now, and one of them is pretty much useless anyway."

Jiroh opened blood-shot eyes and glared at him. "I heard that."

"Sorry, but...all you do is sleep!"

"I write, sometimes. And I'm a nice decoration."

"You're also a nice footrest."

Jiroh harumphed at Hiroshi's statement, then went back to sleep so he could ignore it.

A short while later, Davide stood, and brought his finished piece over to the leaders of the Orange-Haired Men United.

"I think we should go upstairs to read this," he said.

"Why?" Sengoku asked.

"It would be a second-story story..."

Sengoku and Hiroshi exchanged pained looks, and ignored that attempt at humor. They shook Jiroh awake, and the three read it together.

~~~~~

~~~~~

Secret Admirer

(Davide)

Davide was quite proud of his bright orange locks; so proud, in fact, that he spent hours and hours working on them before he would go out of the house in the morning. His hair was his vanity. He loved it. He was also fairly certain that somewhere along the way, he would meet someone who loved it just as much as he did, and would appreciate the time spent on it.

So when he received a letter from a secret admirer, he was quite pleased.

"What's that?" Kurobane asked, peering over his shoulder.

"A love letter," Davide replied. 

"Oh?"

"Must be my stunning personality."

Davide was rewarded with a kick in the head. "What was that for?" he demanded. 

"That was one of your worst jokes yet."

"You don't believe that I got a love letter?" Davide was just a little insulted.

"Let me see." Kurobane took the piece of paper from Davide, and read it aloud. "Roses are red, violets are blue; actually, violets are purple...does that make this void? I hope not! I love you!" 

"I told you," Davide said.

Kurobane laughed. "Your secret admirer isn't a very good poet."

Davide shrugged. He didn't really care; he'd never had a secret admirer before, and it was kind of interesting, really. He wondered who it could possibly be.

"You better be careful though, Davide. These secret admirer types can be pretty scary. You might find yourself with a stalker or something," Kurobane warned.

"Stalker?" That didn't sound very pleasant. Davide didn't want anyone following him around and leaving underwear in his mailbox.

"Some people are highly deranged..." With that, Kurobane gave him back the leter, and walked off to his class. Davide crumpled up the love letter and tossed it in the garbage.

Stalker, hah...Kurobane was just jealous because he hadn't gotten any love letter. 

~~~~~

Davide wondered if he was maybe just a little paranoid. He felt like someone was following him, and kept checking over his shoulder every five minutes to try and see if there really was someone following him. It was beginning to look as though he'd developed some kind of nervous twitch.

He decided that he was just worried because of what Kurobane had said earlier. He was just being silly; no one wanted to stalk him or anything...

He looked over his shoulder for what must have been the millionth time. He saw Kurobane waving at him.

Maybe Kurobane was following him around as some sort of joke. 

It wasn't very funny...

That gave Davide pause for thought. No one ever found his jokes funny, even though he knew they were genius -- was this Kurobane's sick revenge?

Nah. He wouldn't do something like that. He was far too nice.

...wasn't he?

~~~~~

Davide was laughing at his latest attempt at humor, and he was rewarded with the usual kick in the head from his doubles partner.

"Do you have to do that every time?" he asked, a little irritably. He was in a very bad mood. When he'd gotten home the previous evening, he'd discovered various love letters and chocolates and so on in his mailbox. He hadn't been able to sleep all night because he'd kept having nightmares about his stalker working their way into his house and strangling him or something. It was disturbing to know that his stalker already knew where he lived. 

After that restless night, he had begun to suspect Kurobane more and more with every second. There was no way anyone would really stalk him. He really didn't believe anyone would waste their time with him. Even though he was quite the bishounen.

"Is something wrong?" Kurobane asked, eyeing Davide suspiciously. Something about the tone of the orange-haired boy's voice must have given him a clue to Davide's mood. Tone of voice was the only thing Davide could think of that Kurobane could use to analyze him with; though his voice changed only slightly more than the expression on his expressionless face.

("He'd be so cool if he kept his mouth shut!" How many times had poor Davide heard that remark? No one appreciates fine humor!)

"Nothing's wrong," Davide replied. "I didn't sleep much last night, is all."

"Nightmares, or something?" 

"Yes. A bunch of horses trampled me..." Snort.

Kick.

"That's it." Davide couldn't take this today. "I'm going back to class."

"Lunch isn't over..."

"I'm not hungry."

Kurobane was left to wonder just what exactly he'd said or done to make Davide so angry with him.

~~~~~

Davide felt a little guilty for snapping at Kurobane earlier.

Until he found the love letter.

"Dearest Davide, how I want you...how I lust for you...I know where you live, so watch out," Davide read. He sighed. Some people were just too strange. He didn't know how to get rid of a stalker.

If it really was a stalker, and not some cruel joke that Kurobane was playing on him...

"Oi, Davide. What's that? Another love letter? You must really have a stalker!"

Davide turned to glare at Kurobane. It must be his doing -- he'd jumped to conclusions so soon that it was too suspicious to ignore.

"This isn't funny," he said -- more like growled, really.

"What? Are you finally admitting that none of your jokes work?"

"No. I'm saying that this whole stalking thing is not funny," Davide said. He crumpled the supposed love letter into a ball, shoved it against Kurobane's chest, and stalked off.

"What are you talking about? I didn't do anything..." Kurobane protested, but Davide was already gone.

~~~~~

Three days passed. Davide didn't speak a word to Kurobane for those three days. He was angry. Kurobane never appreciated _his_ humor, so why was he pulling a stunt like this? It really didn't make much sense.

The various items in his mailbox continued. It was annoying as hell. As well as disturbing, when he found some rather...frilly...underwear added to the long list of things.

Not to mention the whole situation was beginning to hurt his rather delicate feelings. He'd always wanted a secret admirer, and now that he had one, it was all a big joke by his supposed best friend, who wasn't even owning up to it! Blah.

Kurobane tried to talk with him, but Davide didn't feel like speaking to him. It was quite childish, really, pulling the silent treatment and all, but they were both still children technically, so he figured he could get away with it.

It was kind of nice for those three days to be able to say anything without receiving a kick to the head. However, it made him come to a certain realization.

Making dumb jokes just wasn't the same without Kurobane around. Huh. So he actually liked getting kicked in the head by Bane-san. Go figure.

So, after those three days passed, he decided to go and talk to Kurobane, if indeed his friend felt like speaking to him at all.

~~~~~

"I'm not the stalker," Kurobane said.

Davide blinked. "Really?"

"Really. I would have told you already if it was."

That made sense, now that Davide actually thought about it. Kurobane would never have had the guts to leave all that underwear in his mailbox, anyway...

"Oh." Davide blinked. "So...who is it?"

"You really do have a secret admirer," Kurobane said. 

"You mean someone has really been stalking me?" It was flattering and frightening at the same time.

"It looks that way..."

Davide opened his locker, and nearly fell backwards when he saw the giant heart-shaped love letter awaiting him.

"I love you, Davide-san!" was all it said.

"I love you, Davide-san!" said someone from behind Davide. He turned around to face...

A really scary-looking girl, with a scary possessive look in her eye.

"Um..."

"Davide-san! Valentine's day is coming up soon! Won't you be mine?"

It didn't exactly sound much like a question. More like a demand. Davide looked to Kurobane for help, and maybe some form of escape.

"Sorry, he already belongs to someone," Kurobane said.

"WHAT?"

"Sorry!" Kurobane shooed the girl away.

"It was nice of you to save me like that...but do you think she'll give up that easily?" Davide asked.

"Well...if it's you..."

"Hey!"

"I'm just kidding. Don't worry. I'll fight her for you."

"Well. I hope you win," Davide muttered.

"So do I!"

Bane-san sounded a little enthusiastic about the whole deal. Davide wondered why that made him happy. He wondered why he had such bad luck lately.

He also wondered if maybe he should stop paying so much attention to his beautiful hair -- since the results of his grooming process had turned out to be less than satisfactory.

~~~~~

~~~~~

"Well, he is definitely not allowed to write anything anymore," Hiroshi commented, when he was finished reading Davide's piece. 

"It was...different," Sengoku said. 

Jiroh yawned.

"I think Kurobane was OOC," Hiroshi said. 

"How would you know? Do you know anything about Kurobane-kun?" Sengoku asked.

"Well. No, as a matter of fact, I don't."

"That voids your previous statement."

Jiroh yawned.

"It doesn't fit together very well," Hiroshi said.

"You're not exactly the leading expert on that," Sengoku muttered, a little bitterly. He was still sore about Hiroshi's attempt at writing his story.

Jiroh...yawned.

"Can I stay in the club?" Davide asked.

"Well, you have no writing talent whatsoever...which means you'll probably fit right in," Hiroshi sighed. 

"Welcome aboard," Sengoku said cheerfully. "Let's work together to try and conquer the world! All orange-haired men together!"

Three men gave a cheer; one gave a sort of snort, since he was currently asleep. Together, they wrote fanfiction, and tried to make people notice them more. And while their fanfiction might not be all the great, one thing was for sure -- their hair was definitely orange...


End file.
